I won't say "Save Gaza" because we know you won't.
But you can pray for Gaza, and share this video so the whole world can see what we're going through.🥲🇵🇸
In a world that grows numb to cruelty, be like Ahmed al-Ahmed, who ran toward danger to protect life.
That is Islam.
We mourn the victims of today’s attack in Australia and pray for safety and sanity everywhere.
May those who murder while cloaked in power or false righteousness leave no legacy worth repeating.
The atmosphere in Gaza is terrifying for families living in tents. Nearly the entire population has no roof to protect them as they brace for the hardest hours ahead—while Israel continues to block the entry of even the most basic shelter materials.
Gaza is drowning. Israel is intentionally torturing millions by delaying the entry of tents and other staples for physical survival. The decomposing bodies, the nonexistent sewage, the lack of housing and health, these are all the conscious perpetration of genocide.
⚡️BREAKING: Israel has not stopped attacking Gaza with tanks firing at displaced Palestinians, helicopters opening fire and airstrikes in Gaza City. 7 Palestinians were killed despite the “ceasefire”.
These are the names of 274 Palestinian journalists in #Gaza killed by #Israel since October 7, 2023. It’s the deadliest war for media workers in history.
BREAKING | On August 28, a lawyer was able to visit Dr. Hussam Abu Safiya, the heroic Director of Kamal Adwan Hospital in northern Gaza who was abducted by Israeli forces after refusing to abandon his patients. He is now held in Ofer Prison along with his nephew, Hussam Zaher, in appalling conditions:
➤ Sunlight only 30 minutes a month
➤ Suffering from severe scabies, boils, and skin infections
➤ Forced to wear the same clothes with only infrequent two-minute baths
➤ Each has lost a third of their body weight
➤ They urgently need dermatologists and medicine for treatment.
Dr. Abu Safiya’s message from prison: “I entered in the name of humanity, and I will leave in the name of humanity… We will remain on our land and continue to provide healthcare services to the people, God willing, even from a tent.”
Let's be honest: Israel and its supporters don’t care how many Palestinian children are sniped in the head. We're at over 20,000 children killed, that number could be 200,000 & it still wouldn't matter. To them, Palestinians are disposable collateral. That's why while they see the same videos we do, they can shrug and resort to all sorts of mental gymnastics to protect their ethnostate project and justify the unjustifiable.
I have no words anymore.
States. Must. Intervene.
This isn’t genius, it’s leadership.
1. Impose an arms embargo and cut trade.
2. Break the blockade with your humanitarian navies.
3. Send a protective presence to Palestine to ensure Israel dismantles its occupation NOW.
A Letter from Hell
(Part 1)
I write this not as a doctor, nor a son, nor a man.
I write this as one who has descended into the bowels of hell and returned, not with prophecy, but with silence in his throat and blood under his nails.
What you are about to read is not a message. It is a confession. A cry. A record of our descent.
And God help me, perhaps a final prayer.
We are trapped in a spiral, a great, grinding wheel of misery that turns not by accident, but by the hands of men.
It is not fate that starves us. It is not Heaven that bombs us.
It is the logic of the powerful, the rituals of violence, the cold arithmetic of geopolitics that has made our streets into slaughterhouses.
Each morning, I wake with the same thought: Has the battery died?
Not mine. I have long been emptied. But the one in my phone.
I need it alive long enough to charge again at the hospital, to remain tethered to something, anything, that suggests we still belong to the living.
There is no water.
There is no breakfast.
There is no “routine.”
There is only a salt-stained bucket of seawater where a sink once stood.
I wash my face, not to cleanse, but to remember that I am still flesh and not yet dust.
I do not eat.
We eat once a day, if we can.
We save what scraps remain for one midday communion: rice, lentils, silence.
I arrive at the hospital, and the doctor greets me with an inventory of absence:
No more orthopedic implants.
No promethazine.
No certainty.
No hope.
The floors are red.
Not metaphorically. Not poetically.
They are red.
And this is what I ask myself: Is our blood even red?
Are we made of the same clay, the same sorrow, the same divine breath that once stirred the lungs of Adam?
If so, then why do we die like vermin?
Why does the world avert its eyes while we rot in full view?
Why does one hostage’s hunger move the soul of nations, while the skeletal bodies of two million children evoke nothing but polite disbelief?
I have lost fifteen kilograms. My bones have names now. My cheeks are hollowed caverns.
The children, God, the children are unrecognizable. They are no longer children. They are shadows with eyes.
And still I said: release the hostages. Every last one. Without conditions.
Because no life should be bartered like coin.
But now I ask you. No, I demand of you. Who will fight for us?
Who will demand our release from this monstrous tribunal of fire and famine?
We did not vote for war.
We did not ignite this blaze.
We are fuel. Nothing more.
We are the tinder that keeps the headlines burning.
I tried to escape. I begged. I bribed. I wept like a child.
But I failed. And now all that remains is this: stay alive, one more day, in a place designed to extinguish life itself.
#GazaGenocide